What might GeoHumanities do? Possibilities, practices ...

University of WollongongResearch Online

Faculty of Social Sciences - Papers Faculty of Social Sciences

2015

What might GeoHumanities do? Possibilities,practices, publics, and politicsHarriet HawkinsUniversity of London, [email protected]

Lou CabeenUniversity of Washington

Felicity CallardDurham University

Noel CastreeUniversity of Wollongong, [email protected]

Stephen DanielsUniversity of Nottingham

See next page for additional authors

Research Online is the open access institutional repository for the University of Wollongong. For further information contact the UOW Library:[email protected]

Publication DetailsHawkins, H., Cabeen, L., Callard, F., Castree, N., Daniels, S., DeLyser, D., Neely, H. & Mitchell, P. (2015). What mightGeoHumanities do? Possibilities, practices, publics, and politics. GeoHumanities, 1 (2), 211-232.

What might GeoHumanities do? Possibilities, practices, publics, andpolitics

AbstractThis article draws together seven practitioners and scholars from across the diffuse GeoHumanitiescommunity to reflect on the pasts and futures of the GeoHumanities. Far from trying to circle the intellectualwagons around orthodoxies of practice or intent, or to determine possibilities in advance, these contributionsand the accompanying commentary seek to create connections across the diverse communities of knowledgeand practice that constitute the GeoHumanities. Ahead of these six contributions a commentary situates thesediscussions within wider concerns with interdisciplinarity and identifies three common themes-possibilitiespractices, and publics-worthy of further discussion and reflection. The introduction concludes by identifying afourth theme, politics, that coheres these three themes in productive and important ways.

Keywordsgeohumanities, do, possibilities, practices, publics, might, politics

DisciplinesEducation | Social and Behavioral Sciences

Publication DetailsHawkins, H., Cabeen, L., Callard, F., Castree, N., Daniels, S., DeLyser, D., Neely, H. & Mitchell, P. (2015).What might GeoHumanities do? Possibilities, practices, publics, and politics. GeoHumanities, 1 (2), 211-232.

AuthorsHarriet Hawkins, Lou Cabeen, Felicity Callard, Noel Castree, Stephen Daniels, Dydia DeLyser, Hugh MunroNeely, and Peta Mitchell

This journal article is available at Research Online: http://ro.uow.edu.au/sspapers/2248

What Might GeoHumanities Do? Possibilities, Practices,Publics, and Politics

Harriet Hawkins

Royal Holloway, University of London

5This article draws together seven practitioners and scholars from across the diffuse GeoHumanitiescommunity to reflect on the pasts and futures of the GeoHumanities. Far from trying to circle theintellectual wagons around orthodoxies of practice or intent, or to determine possibilities in advance,these contributions and the accompanying commentary seek to create connections across the diversecommunities of knowledge and practice that constitute the GeoHumanities. Ahead of these seven

10contributions a commentary situates these discussions within wider concerns with interdisciplinarityand identifies three common themes—possibilities practices, and publics—worthy of further discus-sion and reflection. The introduction concludes by identifying a fourth theme, politics, that coheresthese three themes in productive and important ways. Key Words: interdisciplinarity, politics,practices, publics, transformation.

15

An abracadabra word, interdisciplinary has been seen as conjuring magical potential but all toooften affecting little actual change. As debates around the practices and possibilities of inter-,trans-, cross-, and multidisciplinarity gather pace, what often seems to unite very disparate andoften conflicting discussions is the recognition of such complex disciplinary relations as a

20pervasive mode of knowledge making for our times. We find them, for example, driving fundingagency agendas; offering the raison d’etre for journals, conferences, and research centers; andcommonly cited as a panacea for the problems of our times. Although thinkers might be dividedalong semantic lines—as different understandings of inter-, trans-, and cross-disciplinarity slippast, overlap, and contradict one another—they seem to unite around one of two poles.

25Advocates subscribe to whatever flavor of disciplinary relations suits them with an enthusiasticdelight—who would not want to be interdisciplinary? Skeptics question the emergence andwider import of such movements, often born from concerns with instrumentalism and socialaccountability in the context of the impact agenda,1 and proffer scathing visions of theMcDonaldization (after Ritzer) of the research landscape as a terrain overpopulated with

30interdisciplinary research centers (Barry and Born 2013).Once described as the “most seriously under-thought critical, pedagogic and institutional

concept in the modern academy” (Liu 1989, 774) interdisciplinary research has recently becomea pressing issue and an object of enquiry for researchers, funders, and government bodies alike.Seen as the panacea for so-called wicked problems—environmental change, for example—the

35potential for interdisciplinarity to respond to what seems like a collective awakening to thecomplex nature of contemporary global issues forms the backstop to many calls to revisit, reject,

or at least negotiate siloed disciplinarity. Perhaps nowhere have these discussions been felt morepertinent and at times more urgent than across the arts and humanities, where interdisciplinarity(although always common) is increasingly being formalized through, for example, the naming of

40fields such as environmental humanities, digital humanities, and medical humanities, as well as,of course, the GeoHumanities. Such territorializations, often situated as a response to worriesover arts and humanities’ futures and relevance, lend a certain coherence and often power tothese ways of working. If nothing else, they form helpful “hooks” that contemporary researchcultures and politics can rally around, promoting and celebrating such ways of working, if not

45always enabling their practical execution.In the spirit of this journal’s assembling of generous and invigorating communities of thought

and practice, I have asked a series of scholars and practitioners to reflect on what theGeoHumanities means to them in terms of both its histories and legacies and its future potential.Far from seeking orthodoxies, narrating a hagiography, or defining possibilities in advance, this

50is an effort to open discussions across GeoHumanities’ diverse constituencies, to explore howGeoHumanities have been and might be imagined, practiced, and worlded.

The six contributions that follow bring together scholars and practitioners working in differentacademic contexts around the world and with different intellectual affiliations; the participants areLou Cabeen, Felicity Callard, Noel Castree, Stephen Daniels, Dydia DeLyser writing with Hugh

55Munro Neely, and Peta Mitchell. The contributors were asked to reflect on past interests, presentchallenges, and future possibilities for GeoHumanities through questions such as these: What newdirections and future imperatives do you see for GeoHumanities scholarship? What opportunitiesand challenges might be presented? How might these trajectories link to past understandings of theGeoHumanities and traditions of scholarship and practice? What lessons do existing scholarship

60and practice offer (practically and intellectually)? What sorts of conceptual, methodological, andpractice-based directions are going to be important in future years? What key ideas need to be bornein mind as GeoHumanities evolves? Their generous responses are presented in the pages thatfollow, offering lively and engaging comments through a range of different lenses; methodological,philosophical, and case study based. In several cases, autobiographical content also builds a picture

65of the kinds of political economies of the academy in which GeoHumanties is being encouragedand advocated for. This opening commentary goes on to draw out three key themes from theseresponses—possibilities, practices, and publics—before closing with a fourth, politics, thatalthough informing all these contributions, remains perhaps underarticulated.

POSSIBILITIES: WHO WOULD NOT WANT TO DO THE GEOHUMANTIES?

70“Transformative thinking … creative interactions … illuminating lost histories … extending con-versations … choreographing new relations … imagining and propelling us toward new futures.”

This is a heady set of claims indeed, but this list captures just some of the work thecommentators collected here suggest that the GeoHumanities might do. This is, of course, byno means an exhaustive list of the ways in which we practice and imagine the GeoHumanities,

75or how we conceive of the futures of thought and practice they propel us toward, but it is aprovoking and promising start. Of course, as Felicity Callard reminds us in her exploration of a“queering” (after Sedgewick) of the GeoHumanities, we might gain inspiration from “a refusal

to determine in advance the work that the poetic, the theoretical, the performative, the archival,the synthetic and the keenly analytical might achieve.”

80If that inspirational list provokes questions such as “Who would not want to do theGeoHumanities?,” then the commentaries offered here put flesh to these abstract bones asthey talk through specific examples, or goals. Noel Castree, for example, offers a convincingplea for action, and the possibility for the GeoHumanities to not only fill the knowledge gaps ofglobal change science, but to remake its DNA. The time is right, he argues, for the crafting of a

85more intimate relationship between GeoHumanities and the science of global environmentalchange. There are, he suggests, lessons we might learn from the environmental humanities as wework through what it is and how it is that GeoHumanities might intersect with scientists whowork on these pressing issues of global concern.

It is not only knowledge that is transformed through the possibilities of the90GeoHumanities, as many of our commentators discuss, but also our own subjectivities as

researchers and practitioners. As Stephen Daniels offers, his experience of working with apublic arts project led him to look again at his local landscapes, and in doing so shaped theways he saw the world, as an academic and as a citizen. For Peta Mitchell, theGeoHumanities and its recent evolution entwines with key stages in her own evolving

95biography as a researcher and practitioner. As Callard’s account of collaborative interdisci-plinarity suggests, to do such work is to become open to being made strange to oneself, asone’s perspectives and practices are put into question, generating something new in theprocess. Collaboration with other scholars and practitioners and with publics is commonacross these commentaries, and it is important not to underestimate the transformations such

100collaborations can bring to us as researchers and creative individuals.What can also be transformed through the processes and practices of GeoHumanities are the

performances and artefacts that are produced as a result of these projects: the translation ofpainstaking analysis and carefully executed synthesis into writing, but also into films, art works,and art walks. Lou Cabeen’s careful account of the evolution of her mappings work, Aspirations

105Among Us, details how different forms of geographical knowledge and practice come togetherwith, in this case, historical information, religious ideas, and digital practices as well as thematerial and aesthetic practices of art making. As Cabeen’s and other project accounts makeclear, to bring together people, knowledge, and practices from the substantive domains ofgeography and various arts and humanities disciplines is to form something new, something

110unexpected, and something tinged, at times, with a little enchantment.

PRACTICES

“Experimental … unhomely … impolite … restless … creative … queer … collaborative …representational … committed … enchanted.”

The methods and practices of GeoHumanities are many and rich: Indeed GeoHumanities115offers an expanded field of practices that encompasses not only the substantive domains that are

shared, or the strains of critical theory we might unite (or go to war) around, but also anextension and exchange of the knowledge-making practices of our disciplines. As the contribu-tions detail, GeoHumanities practices might be as much ethnographic methods, visual andtextual analysis, or archival work as they are the shared work of exploration and mapping, or

120the processes of weaving words or fibers into poems or fabrics, making marks on page,photographic plate, canvas, or landscape. Many of these and more are brought to life in thesix contributions that follow. Mitchell’s autobiographic notings of her own evolving place withinthe GeoHumanities, for example, and its enabling and disabling characteristics, charts somedimensions of this expansion, not least toward the digital humanities.

125Two contributions, those by Cabeen and also by DeLyser and Neely, produced biographies ofthe evolution of their GeoHumanities projects. In the first, the method and practices of theGeoHumanities take intellectual and aesthetic form around the topic of maps and mapping. AsCabeen recounts, the expertly produced terrain maps of state bodies form the basis for laymappings of spiritual engagements, which are brought together in an artistic mapping that

130involves processes such as digital and relief printing and hand and machine stitching. In thesecond, the methods and practices of GeoHumanities emerge as social-scholarly practices,wherein collaborations proceed in fits and starts through a mixture of electronic and face-to-face communication, and are informed by serendipity and dogged determination as much as byscholarly endeavor. Eventually archival work is done, joined later by translation, as well as the

135skilled practices of historians, geographers, heritage scholars, and enthusiasts.Whether accounts by the one or the many, GeoHumanities practitioners often seem to come

together around knowledge produced by others. We can see this in Cabeen’s drawing together oflay knowledge and state maps, and the collaborations of Castree, Callard, and DeLyser andNeely. In Daniels’s discussion of the Siberechts painting, his own rich and multidisciplinary

140practices—walking, textual, and visual analysis conducted both in specialist archival and artisticspaces and his everyday life—form a lens through which to reflect on the painter’s own “matrixof intersecting perspectives, optics and forms of knowledge, including poetry and map making.”These projects remind us that GeoHumanities is not a new endeavor, and that in our engage-ments we often end up studying and responding to the GeoHumanities practices of past others.

145As the preceding list suggests, however, to think about the expanded field ofGeoHumanities practices is not just to detail a growing technical field, but also to outlinea certain ethos of method and practice. Reading DeLyser and Neely’s contribution we mightconsider such an ethos to be informed by a sense of crafting. The term evokes not only thecommitment they note, but also a sense of acquired technique, of methods tried and tested,

150of respected skills and hard-won embodied and material practices. The ethos ofGeoHumanities method and practices might also be considered to be one of experimentationand creativity, words that have become almost ubiquitous in our contemporary vocabularies.If these ideas have come to indicate a certain falling into line with a contemporaryintellectual climate, then their associations for our commentators here are rather different;

155these creative practices are ones that seek to make strange, to bring to the fore the over-looked, and to challenge the settled.

PUBLICS

Advocates of interdisciplinarity often point toward the potential of these practices to engage andassemble stakeholders and publics around research issues. In the contributions here, publics of

160and for GeoHumanities appear in manifold ways that open up those perhaps more stiltedaccounts of existing public constituencies as end users of academic knowledge and practices.

Here, publics are not just informed and entertained by GeoHumanities work—although, ofcourse, the importance of this should not be underestimated—but are brought into being byGeoHumanities work, and, moreover, themselves constitute parts of the evolution of

165GeoHumanities projects and practices. Looking across the contributions we see publics ascollaborators, as knowledge producers, and as constituencies who incite the production ofknowledge. It is clear that for many the GeoHumanities are deeply engaged with and shotthrough by practices and methods involving the public.

In what follows, this is most clearly evident in DeLyser and Neely’s contribution. Here, as170they make clear, a public GeoHumanities is full of possibilities, as their project proceeds through

the assembly of a group of stakeholders but also comes to fruition in the form of a new resourcefor research and for public consumption. What their project biography evidences is the craftingof a public GeoHumanities, a social and material practice of collaboration and participation thatinvolves both a temporal commitment on the part of the researcher and a commitment of many

175different interested parties to make this project happen. What is crafted in this project is not onlythe research process and the resultant film, but also the publics themselves, composing thosestakeholders—museums, galleries, archives, translators, enthusiasts—that were part of the pro-cess, but also those that will watch the restored film.

That the publics we assemble and engage through our GeoHumanities research and180practice might shape its contours, and define its directions and forms, also runs throughout

the other contributions. For Callard, for example, writing of her research center Hubbub,public engagement can be enlivened by the kinds of collaborative creative endeavors that sitat the heart of the GeoHumanities. We might, therefore, extend Castree’s plea for theGeoHumanities as a creative interface to include not only how such practices might address

185the need for making new knowledge and reshaping that practices by which we produceknowledge, but also how the gap between knowledge and action in the field of globalenvironmental change might be closed. Indeed, recent work on art–science collaborationsand practices, such as those detailed by Callard, demonstrate the potential of such practicesto assemble new publics around environmental change issues. This is to both enchant publics

190through the aesthetics of processes of creative making, as well as to insert “lay” stories intothe expert practices of climate science and environmental remediation, disrupting them asthey do so.

POLITICS

Politics has, perhaps, been the unseen, unsaid thread that runs throughout the three preceding195themes and the commentaries that follow. The politics we find here takes various forms, and

although perhaps more space could and indeed should be made for a critical, radical kind ofpolitics (here we might think of decolonizing, feminist, antiracist, or queer scholarship andpractices), what is very present here is a form of knowledge politics that clearly does do work inthe world.

200As has been observed elsewhere, creative geographical practices have not always beenas politically engaged as they might be (Marston and De Leeuw 2013), and there arelessons to be learned from others across the GeoHumanities community for whom scho-larly and creative practices are always politically engaged, in the sense that they are given

force and purpose by an intervention within and a making of worlds. We might ask, then,205what are the practices and spaces of politics proper to, but also propagating from,

GeoHumanities?The politics at work across these contributions and the projects they encompass takes aim at a

politics of knowledge production. The reflections offered here bring into view GeoHumanities asa critical and productive assemblage of different disciplines and domains of expertise, all of

210which are kept in motion. Whether or not we term them unsettling, all inform ongoinginvestigations, representations, and reimaginations of disciplinary practices. This is, then, apolitics that asks us to unsettle our knowledge hierarchies in multiple ways. TheGeoHumanities conjured forth do not just require us to move beyond disciplinary silos; theyalso unsettle relations among theory, praxis, scholarship, practice, and application, and undo the

215privilege of academic expertise.The tenor of this discussion is heady and the possibilities endless: As with creativity, the risk

is that we romanticize the GeoHumanities, fall in love with the possibilities, and in doing sooverlook the work that can be required to bring these forms of scholarship about, overlookingnot least of all, the work often required to bring interdisciplinarity about in our institutions

220despite the rhetorics of university politics and research cultures. Alongside many of thecontributors’ positive discussions of such possibilities are also more tempered notes, gesturesto hard work, misunderstandings, and missteps and to disciplinary oversights that make suchpossibilities hard to realize. Reference is made also to the structures and bureaucracies ofresearch cultures and politics that might support such work with one hand, while with the

225other pulling away security and possibility as they fail to recognize the challenges of time andthe making of the space needed for such work—the commitment and kismet DeLyser and Neelydescribe.

What, then, might GeoHumanties do, and what might it mean to do the GeoHumanities?Amidst the detailing, the collective bent of these responses is perhaps to gesture toward the

230radical possibilities for the GeoHumanites, radical because what is developed in the course ofsuch work is not just new knowledge, but a set of reflections that take aim at the practices andprocesses of knowledge production themselves. Often this happens not only through reflection,but also through the very performance of these GeoHumanities practices. This is to acknowl-edge, but also to open up, possibilities for interventions and solutions that twine a reshaping of

235intellectual landscapes with a doing of work in the world.

APPARITIONS AMONG US: A GEOHUMANITIES PROJECT

Lou Cabeen, University of Washington

I am an artist who looks to geography and geographical thinking as a primary source forinspiration and insights into creative visual strategy. I respond to maps as systematic, visual

240documents, documents that use abstract 2D language to describe 3D experience. This is the mostobvious of the shared epistemological assumptions of our two fields—that it is, in fact, possibleto do this. It is remarkable that a display of abstract marks on a flat surface made by one personcan be understood and experienced by another in such a way as to construct or reconstruct anunderstanding of physical experience. But whose experience is being constructed on a given

245map or artwork? What gets put onto that flat surface and what gets left out? The navigation ofthese questions, well documented by other scholars and critics, is the space between publicknowledge and private experience. It is this space that I endeavor to manifest in my art.

Apparitions Among Us is an artist’s book that details twenty-four apparitions of the VirginMary. These apparitions occurred in the continental United States during my lifetime (I was born

250in 1950). My startled discovery that there had, in fact, been such apparitions led initially to aseries of large-scale drawings, and more recently to this book. Apparitions Among Us utilizesletterpress, digital, and relief printing to depict the locations of these apparitions; to name thecity, town, or area in which they occurred; and to tell briefly the story of the apparition itself.The book exists as a collection of four accordion-folded folios, each folio hand bound using

255machine and hand stitching. The folios are titled “Rural Sightings” (Figures 1 and 2),“PublicDisplay,” “Receiving Instruction,” and “Guadelupe Great and Small.” The folios are housed in agatefold box, and the book exists in an edition of five.

One side of the accordion-folded folios unfolds to reveal digitally printed portions of U.S.Geological Survey (USGS) topographical maps overprinted with radiating circles of text. At the

260center of the circles is the site of an apparition, whose story can be found letterpress printed onthe reverse of the accordion. The specificity possible with current online mapping and research

FIGURE 1 Apparitions Among Us, 2014, letterpress, digital and reliefprinting, hand and machine stitching, 12” × 9” closed, approximately 48”extended. (Color figure available online.)

technologies allowed me to pinpoint the exact locations of these events, which are oftendescribed by participants in apocryphal (i.e., less than objective) terms.

I exploit the USGS maps for their visual aesthetic, as well as for the assumption we bring265to them of scientific, encyclopedic cartography—objective and categorical. My strategy was

very simple—to juxtapose these beautiful but supposedly neutral documents of public spacewith evocations of the numinous and subjective. The USGS map conveys to the readerconfidence in locating with precision the location in question. The additional information thatsurrounds and supports the topographical imagery, however, reveals that the place depicted

270and pointed to might not exist in a space approachable via public forms of knowledge andcategorization.

The radiating circles of text are chants or prayers to the Virgin used by pilgrims at theapparition sites they demarcate. I have printed them in transparent gold. Although thesereticulated circles can flash solid gold as the pages are turned, most of the time they remain

275transparent, with the specificities of the terrain showing through. Just so do subjective experi-ences of the numinous, of pilgrimage, of folkloric legend provide a gloss to the objectiverealities of topography and infrastructure. And just so does the public understanding of terrainbecome the lived experience of place.

FIGURE 2 Apparitions Among Us, 2014, letterpress, digital and reliefprinting, hand and machine stitching, 12” × 9” closed, approximately 48”extended. (Color figure available online.)

EXPERIMENTATION ATHWART THE DISCIPLINES

280Felicity Callard, Durham University and Hubbub (at The Hub at Wellcome Collection)

A new interdisciplinary terrain is being assembled through suturing the combining form “geo” tothe abstraction “humanities.” How does that dense compound imagine the tying of the concernsof geography to those of the humanities? Rather than yoke what are envisaged as the distinct andproper objects of one domain (the geographical) to those of the other (the humanities), might,

285rather, the term GeoHumanities bear and propel into the future the memory of multiple, tangledstrands and crossings that have long bound the interpretive labors of geographers to those ofhistorians, literary scholars, and creative practitioners? Sedgwick, more than twenty years ago,famously conjured “queer” as a “continuing moment, movement, motive—recurrent, eddying,troublant,” whose etymology points to the verb torque, and to the adverb and preposition

290athwart (Sedgwick 1993, xii). Much of that early, powerful efflorescence of queer theory workedagainst the territorial demands of disciplines and the ordered temporalities through which theytoo frequently narrate their pasts and futures. Might the voraciousness with which queer theoryapproaches its potential sources, texts, and choice of methods—as well as its refusal todetermine in advance the work that the poetic, the theoretical, the performative, the archival,

295the synthetic, and the keenly analytical might achieve—provide inspiration for those gatheringaround the compound GeoHumanities?

For a number of years, now, my own research interests have led me athwart those terrainsimagined as proper to the social sciences, to the humanities and to the life sciences—whether inan effort to understand the nascent domain of neuropsychoanalysis (Papoulias and Callard

3002012), or to chart ways in which social scientists and humanities scholars might work withthe concepts and models of neuroscientists in ways that avoid either rebarbative critique oringenuous adulation (Papoulias and Callard 2010; Callard and Fitzgerald 2015; Fitzgerald andCallard 2015). The collaborations in which I have been involved have entwined geographicalpreoccupations and methods with those of cognitive neuroscience, sociology, cultural studies,

305psychology, and the visual and literary arts. Through them, my collaborator Des Fitzgerald and Ihave been increasingly interested in the different logics and practices of experimentation that aremobilized in the sciences, the creative arts, and, indeed, the social sciences. We have argued thatexperiments open up heterogeneous modes of investigation and practice through which tointervene in how the world is known, construed, represented, and assembled (Fitzgerald and

310Callard 2015). How might “we” (those of us who are gathering around the GeoHumanities)work—creatively, impolitely, queerly—with the logics through which experiments establish whoor what is construed as the object of study and who the subject; whence evidence is assumed toemerge; which instruments prompt or capture that evidence; and the location at which theobserver might stand? How might we entwine these kinds of experiments—whose histories lie

315predominantly in the sciences and social sciences—with the methods and representationalstrategies of the experimental novel, or experimental poetry? After all, both scientific andaesthetic practices of experimentation create new epistemic objects, and choreograph newrelations between the things in the world and the media and technologies through which theyare brought into visibility (cf. Roepstorff and Frith 2012; Waugh forthcoming).

320Such problematics are currently playing out in the space of The Hub at Wellcome Collection,where, for two years, “Hubbub,” the large interdisciplinary project that I direct (and that involves

approximately fifty collaborators from the social sciences, the arts, the sciences, the humanities,broadcasting and public engagement), is exploring how different disciplines and domains ofexpertise investigate, represent, and reimagine the dynamics of rest, not least in relation to those

325states and phenomena—work, tumult, exertion, noise—to which rest is too easily opposed(Callard 2014; Callard, Fitzgerald, and Woods 2015). Here, we all, as collaborators workingacross the disciplines, are becoming strange both to ourselves and to one another. Some of theartists are mining and addressing historical archives, as well as creatively reworking psycholo-gical methods, in ways that transform hackneyed understandings of “source material” and data

330points. Some of us are harvesting modes of conceptualizing and eliciting states of daydreamingand mind-wandering from the humanities and the arts, to develop a new interdisciplinaryprotocol through which experimentally to investigate how the complex, patterned movementsof focused and idle thought are related to the function of brain dynamics. Others are thinkingthrough how the performance of exhaustion might transform usual ways in which it is con-

335ceptualized and measured as a physiological state of an individual, and individuated, body.Rather than document or demand appropriate perimeters of and for future scholarship in the

geohumanities, how might we, then, keep alive the strangeness of its contours, its modes ofaddress, and the topoi that it might approach? In other words, might we cleave more to whatmight be unhomely about its methods and practices (whether of writing, drawing, sounding,

340visualizing, tracing, mapping) than strain toward their future domiciliation?

THE GEOHUMANITIES AND GLOBAL CHANGE SCIENCE: TOWARD POSITIVEINTERFERENCE

Noel Castree, University of Wollongong and University of Manchester

Global change science (GCS) needs the GeoHumanities, as part of a wider engagement with the345environmental humanities. The problem is that many global change scientists do not yet

appreciate the why and wherefore of the “need.” The good news, however, is that these scientistsare currently receptive to voices on the “other side” of campus. In this commentary, I want toexplain why the need arises and consider how the GeoHumanities might best speak to GCS.

GCS is a large, complex, multidisciplinary endeavor. It is devoted to describing, explaining,350and predicting patterns of continuity and change within and between all components of the

“Earth system” (namely, the biosphere, hydrosphere, atmosphere, cryosphere, and lithosphere).It is currently experiencing rapid evolution, evidenced—among other things—by the end ofthree of the four long-standing global research programs focussed on anthropogenic environ-mental change.2 Future Earth replaces these programs (see http://www.futureearth.org/). Two

355notable features of it are (1) the centrality accorded to so-called human dimensions in its scienceplan, and (2) the centrality of “transformative knowledge” across its three research themes.3

They stand as both an invitation and an aspiration for anyone researching global environmentalchange. More broadly, a large number of global change scientists (and funding bodies) arecalling for social scientists and humanities scholars to step forward. In the last few years, the

360pages of Nature, Science, Nature Climate Change, Ambio, Current Opinion in Environment &Sustainability, Anthropocene Review, Earth”s Future, and similar journals have been pepperedwith articles and editorials inciting those outside the environmental sciences to join the fray.

Likewise, when the International Group of Funding Agencies for Global Change Researchissued the Belmont Challenge in 2009 (http://igfagcr.org/belmont-challenge), it explicitly refer-

365enced the social sciences and humanities as “missing ingredients.”More than environmental social scientists, people in the environmental humanities have

rarely been on the front line of global change research. This includes those who might describethemselves as geohumanists. That global change scientists are now looking to people like ustherefore comes as a significant opportunity. It arises because the scale, scope, and magnitude of

370anthropogenic environmental change will be (already is) game-changing for life on Earth in allits forms. Understanding how, why, and to what ends people worldwide should respond is onecrucial task the environmental humanities in general, and the GeoHumanities in particular, canperform. Relatedly, identifying the reasons why people in authority, as well as ordinary people,do not (yet) recognize the profundity of our planetary condition is a task for some humanists.

375Yet few global change scientists seem to really understand what humanities scholars have tooffer. Although I cannot evidence it in a short commentary, the calls referred to earlier aretypically guilty of three things. First, they make more mention of the social sciences than thehumanities. Second, when the humanities are mentioned, there is virtually no detail about whattheir contribution might be. Third, all too often the implication is that researchers from the

380various “people disciplines” will help to fill knowledge gaps about the current (and predictedfuture) realities of human dimensions. This implication, it seems to me, rests on the questionableontological assumption that there is one world out there awaiting more complete analysis; therole of knowledge is then to represent reality as accurately as possible so that global changescientists can devise appropriate technical and behavioral measures in the realms of mitigation,

385adaptation, and precaution.The environmental humanities have more to offer, and so, too, do the GeoHumanities. They

inquire into the diverse ways that people—both past and present—invest the material world withmeaning. They inquire into all human practices, from the conduct of science to periodic culturalrituals, from esoteric endeavors (like climate modeling) to everyday activities (like livestock

390farmers herding animals). They regard humans as beings who are biological and social, thinkingand feeling, rule-following and creative, natural and historical, bounded and related, habitual andflexible, rational and passionate, consistent and fickle, and cooperative and antagonistic. Theyseek to record, and often evaluate, the assumptions, feelings, articulated beliefs, and expressedemotions that people draw on to make their own lives, and those of others, matter. As part of this

395they pose the timeless questions of what it is to be a human, and what our humanity entailscognitively, morally, aesthetically, and practically. This implies that humanists not only inves-tigate values, politics, cultural variety, power, identity, affect, and so on: The knowledge theyproduce is itself implicated in those things, even when produced with all the integrity weassociate with the idea of “good research.”

400Consequently, the environmental humanities and the GeoHumanities have the potential toremake the DNA of GCS. By refusing the invitation to fill knowledge gaps downstream of GCS—as if “facts” and “values” can be analyzed separately by different groups of experts—they canhelp it realize its potential to inspire serious debate about the future of humanity in theAnthropocene. This aligns the environmental humanities and the GeoHumanities with the values

405of “real democracy” and less with the (undoubtedly important) values of environmental manage-ment and decision making. It positions them as vital components of the transformative thinkingthat many outside Future Earth, never mind within, are calling for. There are many legitimate

pathways toward transformation, not least because the destination is itself a legitimate subject ofdebate. If research fails to open up key questions of means and ends, then it is likely that

410transformation will merely be rhetoric used by those unwilling to transform anything.However, we cannot just point fingers and hope that global change scientists will change their

modus operandi in our favor. We also have to seriously consider altering our own practices. Asorganizations like the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change and the newIntergovernmental Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services attest, GCS enjoys high-

415level visibility in politics, commerce, and the public sphere. Most contemporary humanitiesscholars are not accustomed to translating their research through such high-stakes boundaryorganiszations. Their words do not enjoy the prominence of a Papal encyclical. Engagingdirectly with GCS could be globally consequential because of the field”s visibility and potentialsocietal influence. To date, many environmental humanists have rested content with an arm’s-

420length relationship. For instance, many have explored the moral implications of the evidence andforecasts provided by the science teams promoting ideas like “planetary boundaries” and global“tipping points.” Meanwhile, others have taken a more critical stance, exposing the role GCS isplaying in solidifying particular regimes of “governmentality.” The common factor in bothresponses is distance from global change researchers. The latter are treated as objects whose

425words and deeds are to be scrutinized, but not as subjects who might want to read and thinkabout what’s being written and said about them (Castree 2014).

Two things give me hope that this can change. First, in parts of GCS there is a real appetitefor change. Some thought leaders responsible for steering GCS strategically clearly oppose a“business as usual” approach (see Hackmann Moser, and St. Clair. 2014). Second, and more

430locally, the launch of this journal comes at a really interesting time in the history of academicgeography. Three elements of context are especially salient to the future character and fortunesof the GeoHumanities. One is the sheer diversity of society–environment research in geography.In philosophical, topical, methodological, and normative terms, this research is more heterodoxthan any other discipline. A second element is the recent attempt to revisit the relationships

435between human and physical geography in unorthodox ways at the levels of both principle (e.g.,Lave et al. 2014) and practice (e.g., Lane et al. 2011). The final element is the number and rangeof existing connections between geographers and the wider world of GCS (albeit few geogra-phers with a strong GeoHumanities profile). My hope is that these three things set the scene fornew engagements between geohumanists and global change researchers, ones that might inspire

440others in the wider environmental humanities to follow suit.

LOOKING AT THE OVERLOOKED

Stephen Daniels, University of Nottingham

Writing in the summer of 2015, I have framed my reflections on the foundations and futuredirections of GeoHumanities in terms of a landscape project to which I am currently contribut-

445ing. “Nottingham from the East” is organized by Ordinary Culture, who undertake projects onart, culture, and heritage in public settings where such works have not been investigated before,particularly ones that illuminate lost histories and imagine alternative futures (see http://www.ordinaryculture.org.uk). This project focused on a place on the eastern edge of Nottingham,

Colwick Woods. The project took its title from a painting in the city art collection, Nottingham450from the East, a prospect of the city produced around 1690, by Jan Siberechts (Figure 3). Sited

on a steep scarp, Colwick Woods is the vantage point of this painting.This landscape was overlooked in more ways than one. Publically owned, and valued as a

green space by the local community, Colwick Woods is little known as a historical geographicallandscape, one with wide-ranging cultural and social significance, and some spectacular views of

455the city and its region. In part this is because it is located on the poorer east side of the city, andnot well documented. Dwelling for many years in Nottingham, living on the south side, andworking on the west side, I had never visited Colwick Woods. The place forms a majorlandmark in views from Nottingham, faced me on my way to work, and, as I discovered, waslaid out as a landscape park, an academic specialism of mine. I knew the picture but not the

460place. Somehow I had scarcely noticed Colwick Woods: It was there, but not there, hidden inplain sight. My partial sightedness prompted me to learn about this landscape, as a citizen, aswell as a geographer, and explain this on a field walk. It proved to be a transformativeexperience. Colwick Woods now makes an impression on me wherever I am, the project hasreoriented my view of Nottingham, literally so, shifting to the east. The look of such landscapes,

465when we attend to them, shapes the way we see the world.The historical geography of Colwick Woods offers some clues as to why it has been over-

looked. For most of its history it was part of a great estate that stretched to the north and southand was broken up to sell land for urban and industrial development. What is now calledColwick Woods was the deer park, later landscape park, for a country house (now a hotel) from

470which it is cut off by the railway. As Nottingham expanded in the nineteenth century, thecitizenry took it upon themselves to make excursions to the east. The estate was jealouslyguarded against poachers, perhaps a reason why a crowd inflamed by the House of Lords

FIGURE 3 Jan Siberechts (1690) Nottingham from the East. Courtesy ofNotthingham City Museums and Galleries. (Color figure availableonline.)

rejection of the Reform Bill in 1831 to extend the franchise, sought to destroy Colwick Hall, toraze it to the ground. The landscape history we have been able to tell, with old maps and

475surveys, as well as observation on the ground, reveals a more open landscape than is visiblenow, of groves and pasture, vistas and panoramas, which had become choked by tree growth.Some of this cover has been cleared to reveal the viewpoint of the Siberechts painting, in theprocess helping to prevent building development that would have both obscured the view andclosed down its connections to a wider world.

480The culture of landscape in the Siberechts picture is about more than a single view; rather it isabout a matrix of intersecting perspectives, optics, and forms of knowledge, including poetryand map making, which reveal a geography of movement and process, of navigation, farming,and building development. This is not a faithful reproduction, but an idealized imitation. As aprospect, it is a vision of time as well as space, a view into the future, a composite created by

485displaying features that are imagined as well as observed, and seen with a precision that couldnever be discerned by the naked eye. Its very insistence as an image invites us to explore thecomplex, contested world it represents. Although the content and political structure of the viewhas changed substantially, from an aristocratic world to a more democratic one, the picture stilloffers a prospectus for understanding the landscape now. If every picture tells a story, this picture

490is a model for place narrative itself.Revealing hidden cultural and natural processes and structures, through the intersection of

landscapes in art and landscapes on the ground, we can come to clearer critical understanding ofwhere we live now, and how, and for whom, we might want to manage future development. TheNottingham from the East project has used some time-honored methods of observation, narra-

495tive, map interpretation, picturing, archival searching, scholarly reflection, gallery talking, andfield walking, practices that distinguished the Association of American Geographers (AAG)volume I coedited, Envisioning Landscapes, Making Worlds: Geography and the Humanities.Such methods, representational, multidisciplinary, collaborative, accessible, and often conversa-tional, offer a platform for publically engaged explorations of real and imagined geographies,

500looking at the overlooked locally and following its implications farther afield. I trust they formpart of the groundwork of this journal and its future prospects and pathways.

COLLABORATION, COMMITMENT, AND KISMET: CRAFTING A PUBLIC ANDPARTICIPATORY GEOHUMANITIES

Dydia DeLyser, California State University, Fullerton505Hugh Munro Neely, Institute for Film Education

In this short essay we advocate for a public and participatory GeoHumanities, offering threeguiding principles forwarding that aim, collaboration, commitment, and kismet:4 collaboration inwebs of scholars, practitioners, enthusiasts, and community members; commitment over years ordecades; and kismet, the very enchantment on which our efforts depend. We show how all three

510shape public and participatory GeoHumanities through the story of a silent film long thought lostbut recently rediscovered in a single surviving print.

The story begins in 1884 when Helen Hunt Jackson published Ramona, a social-protestnovel and period romance set in Southern California, aimed at positively transforming the

lives of American Indians. A smashing success, it appeared on the eve of a tourist boom—515soon visitors to California read Ramona preparing for their visits, and then toured sites

therein described. The novel, remaining strongly in the landscape and popular imaginationfor 130 years, has seen two stage adaptations, an outdoor pageant, five film versions, and aMexican telenovela—each one grand in scale, its own effort to reinterpret and engage thestory anew.5

520The third film version, released by United Artists in 1928 (see Figure 4)—the height of thesilent-film era—was epic: Directed by a Native American (Edwin Carewe), it starred a Mexicanwoman (the mesmerizing Dolores Del Rio) as Ramona. Its success saw thousands of printsdistributed in the United States and also around the world: Because of the ease of translatingdialog titles, silent films enjoyed wide distribution in foreign-language markets. But by 1929, the

525film, along with all silents, had been eclipsed almost everywhere by the arrival of sound.Ramona, like hundreds of other films, vanished.

In the late twentieth century when GeoHumanties researchers took renewed interest in thenovel and its adaptations, this lost film had to be left from our analyses. Today that is no longer

FIGURE 4 Promotional poster for the 1928 Ramona released at theheight of the silent era when charismatic star Dolores Del Rio was atthe peak of her career. (Color figure available online.)

the case: A restored print is now available, and will be released on DVD, returned to the broader530public for which it was intended. What made this possible is a confluence of collaboration,

commitment, and kismet.The story resumes in Eastern Europe, where prints of American silent films with foreign-

language titles were often left in theater basements and film-exchange offices, saving the cost ofshipping a supposedly used-up title back to its source. In Prague, one print of Ramona survived

535unnoticed. Then, during World War II, when Nazis occupied Czech territory and confiscated vastquantities of private property, many film prints were looted and integrated into theReichsfilmarchiv. Ramona was dragged along.

At the war’s end, when the Russians liberated Berlin, they liberated the Nazi film archive aswell, merging its contents into the gigantic Soviet film archive, Gosfilmofond. Ramona dis-

540appeared among the masses.Then, in the 1960s, a Czech film archivist discovered this American silent with Czech, not

Russian, dialogue titles. Ramona was extradited, integrated into the Czechoslovak film archive,and listed by the International Association of Film Archives as the world’s only copy. But afterthe Velvet Revolution the film dropped from the listings—Ramona again fell silent, presumed to

545have decomposed.By the early twenty-first century, three researchers, the first in English and film studies,

the others a silent-film historian-practitioner and a geographer, put up a persistent searchbased on a rumor that that one print had survived, unlisted, in that Czech archive.Indefatigable inquiries persuaded the archivists to excavate the print; in two trips in 2010

550the scholars traveled to Prague to view it: The world’s only print of the 1928 Ramona wasscreened—on an ordinary projector.

The film, however, was made not for research but for public viewing, and the group wasdetermined the film be restored and rereleased. Perseverance engaged the U.S. Library ofCongress, and after protracted parleys, in late 2011 Ramona was couriered back to the United

555States. There, Library of Congress staff copied the print and restored the copy, creating a printfor public access from the new negative.

When exhaustive research could not turn up a complete original English-language script, aRamona expert and a Czech translator joined the effort, and a new script was authored based onthe Czech titles. The granddaughter of the film’s director joined the team, and they commis-

560sioned a silent-film orchestra to compose a score. Finally, in 2014, eighty-six years and one dayafter Ramona’s premiere, the restored print debuted in Los Angeles (Figure 5). Today, it hasbeen publically screened in more than a dozen venues. Further, grant funding has assured thefilm’s upcoming release on DVD.

So today, thanks to these efforts, the stunning 1928 silent film version of Ramona has been565returned to the public stage it was made for—an achievement of public and participatory

GeoHumanities that transcends typical scholarly outputs. The story demonstrates the collabora-tion that might be required of public GeoHumanities—joining scholars, practitioners, enthu-siasts, and community members.6 The drawn-out process testifies to the commitment publicGeoHumanities could impose—just the film’s excavation, return, restoration, and rerelease

570demanded six years of devotion. This single print’s survival speaks to kismet—the enchantedtwists of fortune on which our efforts in public GeoHumanities must ultimately rely.

WHAT’S IN A NAME? GEOHUMANITIES AND THE FORMATION OF A NEW (INTER)DISCIPLINE

Peta Mitchell , Queensland University of Technology

575Just over eight years ago, in mid-2007, I packed my bags for a northern hemisphere summerand took what turned out to be an auspicious trip from Brisbane, Australia, to Charlottesville,Virginia, to take part in the AAG Geography and the Humanities Symposium—the first in aseries of AAG-sponsored events and publications that would eventually lead to the formationof the GeoHumanities journal. At the time, I was a relatively new academic in a hybrid

580humanities-based school with an unwieldy acronym that struggled to accommodate its con-stitutive disciplines of cultural, literary, and film and media studies, as well as art history,

FIGURE 5 Ramona (Dolores Del Rio) in romantic embrace withAlessandro (Warner Baxter) in 1928. In 2014 the newly restored versionof this long-thought-lost silent film premiered in Los Angeles—throughcollaboration, commitment, and kismet, Ramona was returned to thepublic stage for which it was intended. (Color figure available online.)

drama, linguistics, and writing. I was now part of the school’s faculty, but I had also done myresearch training in it, and so in many ways the interdisciplinary nature of my research—whichbrought questions of space and geography to bear on cultural, media, and literary studies—was

585testament to the broad range of disciplines and disciplinary expertise I had been exposed to asa student within it.

I have little doubt that my interdisciplinarity played a role in my almost seamless transitionfrom PhD student to full-time faculty member at a time when the adjunctification of highereducation was beginning in earnest. As an academic, however, I was soon to discover the

590limits to interdisciplinarity, as the difficulty of situating my research in a given disciplinewithin the school (leaving aside my forays into geography) became increasingly problematicin a national research environment moving inexorably toward top-down assessment based onrigidly defined field-of-research classifications that effectively militate against interdisciplin-ary research.7 In Virginia in 2007, three years before Australia’s first national research

595assessment exercise, I was as yet blissfully (possibly naively) unaware of how bureaucraticallychallenging my interdisciplinarity would soon become—I was revelling in the opportunity toengage with like-minded academics and artists working at the intersection between geographyand the humanities.

By the time the two book collections inspired by the symposium appeared in 2011, “geo-600graphy and the humanities” had been portmanteaued to create the more pithy label of

GeoHumanities—a term that the editors of the GeoHumanities collection were at pains topoint out was not intended to “define a comprehensive new ‘field’ or ‘discipline,’” but ratherto denote the “rapidly growing zone of creative interaction between geography and the huma-nities” (Richardson et al. 2011, 3–4). As Cresswell (201) also noted, the GeoHumanities are

605nothing new, and could be considered simply the latest “instantiation of humanistic thought thathas had spatial thinking at its heart” for some two millennia. Despite this long prehistory, thealmost concurrent emergence in the late 2000s of a constellation of terms—namely, geohuma-nities, spatial humanities, and geocriticism—that emphasize the intersections between geographyand the humanities seems to suggest either a new arc to the spatial turn noted by Soja and

610Jameson in the late 1980s and early 1990s, or a drive toward naming and delineating an existinginterdiscipline—or both.

Certainly the digital spatial turn occasioned by the growth of ubiquitous locative media,and the opening up of geospatial technologies to nonspecialists via neogeography in the mid-2000s cannot be overlooked in the coemergence of these terms. Indeed, my own research

615trajectory has broadly followed this arc from the not-so-digital to the digital GeoHumanities:from a focus on spatial and cartographic metaphors in literary and theoretical texts, to digitalhumanities geovisualization, and most recently to analyzing and mapping “big” geosocialmedia data in a digital media research center. This is not, however, to say thatGeoHumanities is or should become a byword for the digital GeoHumanities in the way

620that the term spatial humanities denotes, in effect, the digital spatial humanities.8 Although abroadly conceived GeoHumanities must take account of and engage with these spatiotech-nological emergences and affordances, as Cresswell and Crang have cautioned, it must takecare not be subsumed within a digital media/digital humanities/big data agenda that, whenapproached uncritically or superficially, could lead to a “restricted spatiality” that renders

625space inert (Crang 2015).

Since the publication of the GeoHumanities collection in 2011, I have used the termGeoHumanities, somewhat against the editors’ intentions, precisely as a way of marking outthe interdisciplinary terrain my research has occupied. What it provided, in the face of a rigidand arbitrary classification system, was the ability to construct a research narrative around a

630nascent but lively and growing—and named—interdiscipline that was at once largely self-explanatory and expansive enough to accommodate a broad range of methods, approaches,media, and technologies put to service for a common aim: to explore the relationships amongspace, geography, and the humanities. The establishment of the GeoHumanities journal, carryingas it does the AAG’s imprimatur, will, I hope, only serve to strengthen and advance the

635interdiscipline, promoting research and artistic endeavor that represents a critical and creativeengagement with the concept of the GeoHumanities across a broad media base, encouragingcollaboration between geographers and humanities-based researchers, and fostering a sense ofacademic community and identity around the term. The establishment and naming of a journal,particularly by a major professional organization, has been (and continues to be) in the modern

640university research environment a key stage in the formation of a discipline, which, as Chandler(2009) put it, requires both “some sort of institutional framework,” including a “home base and asense of its identity over time,” or, in other words, “a local habitation and a name” (734–35).Like the editors of the GeoHumanities collection, I am not fully convinced of the merits orlikelihood of the GeoHumanities attaining full disciplinary status in its own right, but I greatly

645look forward to seeing the interdiscipline taking shape (but, then again, perhaps not too much)through this journal.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Harriet Hawkins would like to thank Deborah P. Dixon for her editorial support and comments.

ORCID

650Peta Mitchell http://orcid.org/0000-0003-4523-6685

NOTES

1. The impact agenda in the U.K. research context is driven by the impact criterion introduced by the Higher EducationFunding Council into the Research Excellence Framework. Impact here is broadly defined as a research contributionto the U.K. economy, society, and culture.

6552. The programs are the International Geosphere-Biosphere Program, launched in 1987, which followed the WorldClimate Research Program (WCRP), created in 1980. They were succeeded by the International Human DimensionsProgram (1990, relaunched in 1996) and Diversitas (launched in 1991 and focusing on global biodiversity andbiogeography). An attempt to coordinate these has occurred under the Earth System Science Partnership for wellover a decade from 2001. All but the WCRP are now being folded into Future Earth (2014–2024).

6603. The themes are Dynamic Planet (which is and will be dominated by science-led projects), Global SustainableDevelopment, and Transformations Toward Sustainability. All three are referenced to the new United NationsSustainable Development Goals, due to be ratified later in 2015.

4. One of us (DeLyser) has previously advocated for participatory and public historical geography, efforts closelyrelated to public and participatory GeoHumanities. See DeLyser (2014). DeLyser presented an earlier version of this

665paper at the International Conference of Historical Geographers in London, July 2015.5. See DeLyser (2005).6. The collaborative cast here includes the following: five film archives and their archivists (Národní Filmov´y

Archiv [Myrtil Frida in the 1960s and in the twenty-first century Michal Bregant, Vladimír Opěla, VěroslavHába, and Karel Zima], the Reichsfilmarchiv, Gosfilmofond, the Library of Congress [Mike Mashon, Rob

670Stone, and Lynanne Schweighofer], and the UCLA Film and Television Archive [including Jan ChistopherHorak, Shannon Kelley, Paul Malcolm, and Kelly Gramml]); a film curator who never lost hope that the filmwas in Prague (Charles Silver of MOMA); two academics, Joanna Hearne (English and Film Studies) andDydia DeLyser (Geography); a local historian (Phil Brigandi); a silent-film historian (Hugh Munro Neely); aCzech translator (Klara Molacek); a granddaughter of the film’s director (Diane Allen); grant funding (from

675the Allen Family Foundation, and the Anders Family Foundation); and the Mont Alto Silent Film Orchestra(composer Rodney Sauer).

7. In Australia, research is classified and assessed according to field of research (FoR) codes laid down by the Bureauof Statistics and last revised in 2008. In an article on the “paradox of interdisciplinarity” in the Australian researchcontext, Woelert and Millar (2013) pointed out the “significant mismatch between the pervasive discourse of

680interdisciplinarity” in the rhetoric surrounding national research governance and “current, relatively inflexiblegovernmental research funding and evaluation practices on the other,” particularly as they are embodied in andinstrumentalized through the rigid FoR coding system (756).

8. Referring as it does specifically to the uptake and use of GIS technologies and geovisualization within humanitiesdisciplines, the term spatial humanities is entirely predicated on—but elides in its name—the digital (see

685Bodenhamer, Corrigan, and Harris 2010). The 2013 creation of a GeoHumanities special interest group (www.geohumanities.org) within the Alliance of Digital Humanities Organizations (ADHO) could be seen as part of asimilar, self-effacing move to reduce the GeoHumanities to the digital.

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HARRIET HAWKINS is a Reader in the Department of Geography, Royal Holloway University of London, Egham,Surrey, UK, TW20OEX. E-mail: [email protected]. Her research interests include the geographies of art worksand art worlds, aesthetics, art and environmental change, and theorizations and practices of collaboration and inter-disciplinarity. She is committed to working with creative practitioners, institutions, and publics as part of her research

730practice and to producing outputs that work through modes other than written text.

LOU CABEEN is an artist living and working in Seattle where she explores the visual and tactile connections betweentextile, text and topography. Until recently she was an Associate Professor in the School of Art at University ofWashington. Her most recent exhibition is The Needle’s Eye, a group exhibition of contemporary embroidery jointlyproduced by the National Museum and Museum of Decorative Arts in Norway.

735FELICITY CALLARD is Director of Hubbub, the first residency of The Hub at Wellcome Collection, London NW12BE, UK. Hubbub comprises an international network of social scientists, humanities researchers, scientists and artists;their interdisciplinary collaborations are investigating rest and its opposites in mental health, neuroscience, the arts andthe everyday. Felicity is Reader in Social Science for Medical Humanities at Durham University, Durham, UK.

NOEL CASTREE is Professor of Geography at the University of Manchester, Manchester M13 9PL, UK, and the740University of Wollongong, Australia. E-mail: [email protected]. His current research examines how the social

sciences and humanities are being drawn into global change research.

STEPHEN DANIELS is Professor of Cultural Geography at the University of Nottingham, Nottingham NG7 2RD, UK,and a Fellow of the British Academy. E-mail: [email protected]. He was Director of the AHRCLandscape and Environment Programme between 2005 and 2012, and currently holds a Senior Fellowship from the

745Paul Mellon Centre for British art.

DYDIA DELYSER is a feminist, qualitative cultural-historical geographer. Her research attempts to embed scholarship,self, and community in creative ways.

HUGH MUNRO Neely is an archivist, film historian and documentary filmmaker. He has worked on research projects ata dozen different film archives in Europe and America, and is currently writing a biography of Czech-American actor and

750filmmaker Hugo Haas.

PETA MITCHELL is Vice Chancellor’s Research Fellow in the Creative Industries Faculty and Chief Investigator inQueensland University of Technology’s Digital Media Research Centre. E-mail: [email protected]. Her fellow-ship project is focused on geocultural research and the digital spatial turn, and her research has broadly focused on theGeoHumanities, including media geography, literary geography, and neogeography.

755